


and (no one) nothing else matters;

by thedarklings



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mutual Pining, Other, Protectiveness, because it's arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 16:39:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17410457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarklings/pseuds/thedarklings
Summary: Loyalty is a thing paid with blood.





	and (no one) nothing else matters;

**Author's Note:**

> So guess who fell down RDR hole and can't get up?
> 
> *sad yeehaw*

Your blood tasted bitter. 

The tang of it had become familiar to you over these last few hours. The bruising, tearing pain that brought it forth, even more so. You had no idea where you were. The cave was damp and cold and endlessly dark to the point even smallest hint of light made your eyes sting. 

No one was coming for you.

At first, you held onto hope. Held onto the idea that your gang—your people, your family—were going to send someone out for you. You were so sure they were going to come for you. Surely, Hosea and Charles and Lenny cared. Surely, Abigail, Jack, John and Sadie did too. Surely  _Arthur_ —

But no.

The truth was different, you realised very quickly. It stung. It stung more than you would ever care to admit that they didn’t care for you as much as you thought—that to them you were nothing more than a loose end now. 

But, at the end of the day, what did they owe you? Nothing. They were all crooks, murderers and thieves. And yes, perhaps you had travelled with them for just a little over a year but it didn’t mean you were somehow special or different from any other member. If you were foolish enough to get yourself caught then it was on you. 

Except the circumstances of your capture didn’t make any sense. You had been so careful—you didn’t live long in this world if you weren’t, especially not when you were a woman trying to make it on your own—but it shouldn’t have been so easy. Shouldn’t have been so easy for the O'Driscolls to take you. You knew better than that, you  _were_  better than that. You managed to kill three of them before their numbers overwhelmed you. 

Colm O'Driscoll made sure you paid for the three lives you took though. Despite the fact he treated his men as nothing more than cannon fodder, he still had the gall to be affronted by the idea of a woman killing three of his fellows. 

“I’m mighty impressed I ‘ave to give it to ya,” the man drawled, his dark eyes dark and soulless as he tilted his head to one side. “Such a hard thing for a lady like yourself to go through. Yer loyal! I respect that, I  _really_  do. Hell of a thing loyalty, practically a dyin’ breed nowadays. What I don’t understand, is why them? They left ya! Left ya to rot here, to be beaten and broken as we please. Why not do the smart thing here, huh?”

Blood dripped from your split lip and you swallowed heavily, your throat sore from screaming. Everything hurt, everything ached in a way you didn’t know was possible. There was helplessness deep in your gut you couldn’t get rid off. The hallowing knowledge that you were dying little by little, that no one was coming to your rescue, and that all previous escape attempts had failed and resulted in more pain. 

It hurt so badly. 

It—

It would be easier, really. Just like the gang didn’t owe you anything, you didn’t owe them anything either. You could make it stop, you could tell him exactly where others were. Give him everything and anything you had on Dutch which was a lot more than anyone probably realised. There was some use in being quiet and unassuming. 

Most days it felt like no one saw you at all. No one but—

A groan of agony slipped past your lips and you took a pained breath, the rattle of your lungs filling the dark space around you. Your wrists were bloodied and raw, the rope cutting even deeper into the fragile skin as you twisted your body weight slightly. 

Colm stared at you pitilessly, expression cold and cruel as he glared at you. He clicked his tongue, eyes moving away from you for a moment as he peered at the empty space above your head. 

“See where yer loyalty got ya? They don’t  _care_  for ya, girlie,” he repeated for what could only be the dozenth time since they took you. “There ain’t no gallant rescue comin’, ya know that, right? They weighted yer life and found it worth… _nothing_. To 'em you’re just another rat, another mouth to feed. They’re probably glad to be rid of ya, truth be told. Why not tell me? Tell me, and all this? Over. Just tell me where they are, that’s all I wanna know. Where is your camp?”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, few more tears rolling down your cheeks and stinging your already sore skin. Lips parting, you allowed few more droplets of blood to escape your mouth before you looked up at the criminal before you slowly. 

“I—I'm—”

Colm’s expression lightened, mock sympathy filling the cruel curves of his face as he took a step towards you, leaning closer.

“Yes, pretty thing, ya can tell me,” he said soothingly, a leering grin twisting his lips. “Just tell me where they are and it will all be over.”

It would be so much easier to tell him. Even if he was lying—you knew he was—there was still a chance you could fool him just enough to let his guard down and escape. You could run away and never look back. Maybe you could even make it back to Blackwater, and take the money for yourself. No one would expect one girl to be capable of such a thing.

It would be  _easier_.

“ _You keep your head up, got it? You’re part of the Dutch van der Linde gang. You don’t answer to these fools._ ”

Arthur. 

Arthur, Arthur, Arthur—

He was the only thing—

Through the pain and the agony, through the endless torture sessions and tauntings, he had been the only thing you had managed to hold onto. You clung to the memory of his gruff voice, of the powerful set of his shoulders and his… _was_  it kindness? Was a man like him even capable of it? You didn’t know. You didn’t. But—

He had always looked out for you, always helped when you needed it most. Somehow he managed to read you like a book and you hated it. He was terrible with women—goddamn awful, in fact—but he managed to see into you in a way that made it far too easy for you to…

What a pathetic fool you were. 

Daydreams were one thing but what you felt—

Colm’s revolting breath almost made you cringe as he leaned in closer and you blinked, trying to steady your vision and focus on his face once more. 

“I'm—” you croaked weakly, your voice strained and choked. “I’m not tellin’ you  _shit_.”

His grip was excruciating when his arm snapped out to grab your face, his bony, rough fingers sinking into your already swollen cheeks. He dragged you closer, a cry of pain escaping you as you felt fresh tears sting your eyes. 

“Then I’m gonna  _skin_  ya alive, girlie,” the man spat cruelly, and the last thing you saw was his fist flying towards your face.  

And then darkness. 

**…**

You tried to not keep track of time. 

It made it easier. 

When the pain came, it came in sharp, stinging burns you tried to block out the best you could. For every painful sensation, you tried to smother it with memories of a better time, a warmer life. 

A mismatched family around a campfire, singing and dancing as if they were kings and queens of the world; free people. 

_Pain._

The sound of Jack’s happy laughter as you chased him around the camp, and his wide beaming smile when you pulled him in your arms and spun him around in a circle. 

_Pain._

Arthur. A glimmer of a grin, a snarky comment, a tight grip on your forearm whenever you stumbled. A powerful frame forged by the cruelty of life that made you—everyone—feel safer. 

**P a i n**

_Let it be over._

_Please, let it be over._  
  
“Where is your camp?”

**_P A I N_ **

“ _We’re only loyal to what matters_.”

Arthur…

_I’ll try._

_I promise, I’ll try._

**…**

“The boss likes ya! He reckons you will not last much longer like this though,” the man sneered in front of you, the tip of his boot continuously hitting your foot. “Says we outta wait till he’s back before we start on the  _real_  fun. Ooh, I look forward to tha’. Gotta get ya healed up a bit first though. Such shame,” he added grabbing your chin and forcefully turning your face in his direction.

You could barely see him through your still healing eye as he turned your head from side to side sharply, “Pretty lil’ thing, aren’t ya? So tell me, are any of em’ good—”

You could barely hear him. His words were all twisted and muddled in your mind. Pain and exhaustion still lingered in your limbs despite the fact they hadn’t touched you in a while. Colm finally seemed to have come to the realisation that he wasn’t going to get anything from you. You were going to take the safety of your family to the grave, regardless of whether or not they came for you.

Arthur lived and breathed loyalty to the Gang, to Dutch. He valued it above all else. Once—back when you first joined them—it had inspired awe in you. You couldn’t believe there was a man out there that could do the things he did, yet still, place such high importance on something as foolish as loyalty. It seemed rudimentary now but back then you had only known how to live for yourself. How to be selfish and greedy. How no one was going to watch your back, and if you wanted something you had to take it by any means necessary.

Survival.

It had been as simple as that. The only loyalty you knew was to yourself.

But now loyalty was a collection of weathered faces, a whisper of a deep voice against your ear, and it was worth it. Perhaps it wasn’t easy but it was worth it—to protect them, to protect  _him_.

The only one who—

“Are ya listenin’ to me, ya damn—”

He never got to finish what he was going to say. A loud bang echoed from aboveground, making the ratty-faced man jump back from you and look around wildly. His hand immediately went to his revolver and he shot you a heated glare, kicking your leg again.

“This ain’t over, girlie.”

The man spat on the floor before moving towards the exit, leaving the lantern behind him as he disappeared from your line of sight.

Another bang. And another.

You wondered what was happening before a loud crack interrupted your fuzzy thoughts. There was a sound of a struggle in the distance but you couldn’t see what was happening. The sound of fighting was familiar to you though, and the struggle didn’t last long before a heavy weight was slammed against the wall.

“Now you listen to me,  _boy_ ,” an all too familiar voice growled, pure wrath lacing every syllable. “I ain’t got time for your games. You tell me where she is, or I’ll end you and everythin’ you’ve ever loved. Now…be a good lil’ boy and start talkin’.”

You were dreaming. Or dead.

There was no way he was actually here.

How many times had you imagined this in your haze of agony? Imagined Arthur bursting into the room, revolver in hand and killing Colm and his men, ending your suffering. Too  _many_. So many times that the bitter disappointment of his absence had faded into nothing. No one was coming for you. No one  _cared_. But it had comforted you through the worst of it, managed to keep you sane enough to refuse Colm time and time again.

“N-No.”

A sound of a body being slammed against the wall, accompanied by a loud crack and a scream, followed. You groaned slightly, trying to form words, words—

“You’re testin’ my goddamn patience, boy,” the dream, the figment, the hope stressed softly but with chilling sort of anger that made your heart ache. “Next thing to break will be your neck, ya understand?  _Where is she_? Tell me, or by all that’s mighty I will gut you like a pig.”

“S-She’s ain’t—she—not h-here, I swear!”

A sound of a loud crunch and the man let out another wail of pain.

“Swear  _again_.”

Before the man could reply, another voice cut through the whimpers, “Arthur? Are ya alright here?”

That voice. You knew that voice too. Some distant part of you recalled finding the joy of good conversation in it. Once upon a time, something else existed apart from this pain and a figment of a man who was never going to come for you.

“Have you found her?” Arthur’s phantom questioned.

Another whimper, and the vaguely familiar voice sighed.

“We hadn’t, no. John is takin’ care of the rest, no Colm though.”

That voice, that voice—he—Arthur—

Your chapped lips parted and you let out a weak whimper, straining your muscles to raise your head. The cry bubbled at the back of your throat, forcing air into your lungs. The hushed conversation continued and you forced your muscles to work, forced your mind to clear. Even if he wasn’t real, you would give anything to feel him near. Anything for even the smallest glimpse of that rugged face and sharp, thoughtful eyes. Anything to feel the heat of his body near.

He may love another but you loved  _him_ , and that was enough too.

“A-Arthur.”

Another scream filled your ears and your head dipped to one side. You swallowed heavily, your throat and facial muscles throbbing from past trauma. Sickness turned your stomach too but you didn’t have time to focus on that. All you needed was to see him at least once.

Swallowing another bile down, you lifted your head, and gathered all your feeble strength for another attempt to catch his attention, “ _Arthur_!”

“She a-ain’t here—”

“Quiet.”

Silence. You forced another choked whimper from your mouth, tears burning your eyes as your eyes shut in despair.

“There’s someone else ‘ere,” the familiar voice whispered. And you almost cried harder. Why wasn’t your delusion of Arthur the one that noticed you?

There was another stretch of silence before soft, cautious steps started moving in your direction. It only took few seconds for the dim light of the lantern to illuminate a large, blurry frame of a man. He held a gun in his hand, the barrel immediately finding you in the vast, otherwise empty space.

“Oh, no— _Arthur_! She’s in ‘ere,” the man called out loudly before turning towards the gaping darkness once more. “Arthur! Did ya hear me?”

There was a brief struggle before a sound of something heavy hitting the ground reached you. Footsteps immediately hurried in your direction, and you didn’t hold back your whimper when a familiar blue shirt appeared in your blurry sight.

He cut the distance between you in few rushed steps, and you were so grateful that your brain at least managed to make him so realistic, you had to do a double take.

 _Arthur_.

The name reverberated through your heart, your mind too, as he took out his knife, quickly hacking at the ropes holding you up.

“Christ. What they do to you (Name)? What did those bastards  _do_?” his voice was low, hushed, his eyes dark and expression tight as his eyes hurriedly flickered over your bruised face. “Can ya hear me? Hey,  _look at me_. I’m gettin’ you outta here. You’re safe now.”

Finally, the ropes gave away, making your legs immediately buckle under you as you dipped towards the ground. Arthur’s arms wrapped securely around your waist, causing a strangled scream of pain to tear from your chest. He tensed, almost dropping you before he gingerly shifted his arms around, cautiously lowering you to the ground.

You panted deeply, tears rolling down your cheeks as you tried to blink away your blurry vision. Because you could feel the warmth of his strong hands on your body, you could see the stubble on his face, and the scar on his chin and—

God, he was  _real_. He really came for you. He was really here, holding you close, and staring down at you, his expression stormy.

His rough thumb brushed under your eye and you let a sob finally escape you. His hand jerked back and he sharply looked towards the man who was standing just a little to the side. You knew him. You knew you did, but your mind refused to sharpen, refused to comprehend anything besides the searing pain and Arthur. Arthur who was pulling back from you, leaving you cold in his absence.

“Take her,” he instructed seriously, “I’ll head out first and make sure the path is clear for you.”

You shook your head, weakly trying to grasp onto Arthur before the other man gently laid his hand on your shoulder. He was saying something, tone warm and kind, but you couldn’t hear anything over the roar in your ears.

You couldn’t help the instinctual reaction; this time not of pain but of raw, undiluted fear.  

A scream echoed through the cave as you jerked away, your muscles shrieking in agony as you curled away from the unfamiliar touch. Your spine curved and you sobbed into the dirt, your forehead pressing harshly against the ground.

“Hey, hey,” Arthur hushed, kneeling before you as he slowly grasped your hands, pulling them away from your face. From this angle, you could see the blood splattered on his face and hands, and felt glad that he deprived those men of their lives. It was a cruel thought but you couldn’t find it in you to regret it. “You’re alright, ya hear me? Just me and Charles. You know Charles, he’s your friend, remember? (Name)? It’s okay, you’re fine now.  _Look at me_.”

You did.

An awkward half grin twisted his mouth but his tight expression remained, the tense curve of his shoulders making you pause, “We’re takin’ you home, back to camp.  _Shhh_. I promise you’re alright now.”

Arthur stared at you for one heavy, prolonged moment before he reached out and laid his hand on your shoulder. Your tears came heavier at the contact but they were silent now. His jaw was so tightly clenched you could just make out the strain of muscles tensing in his neck. But no matter how much you tried to understand his tense expression, you couldn’t quite manage it. He looked…angry. Angry in that controlled, collected way Arthur sometimes got. That type of simmering rage was always the worst, you knew, because Arthur had very little patience and very little mercy for anyone when he got like this.

“Clear a path for us, Charles, I got ‘his,” he spoke simply, the low baritone of his voice almost making you shiver.

“Of course,” Charles replied promptly, and you felt his worried gaze on you for another few seconds before he moved towards the entrance of the cave.

Silence stretched between you, interrupted only by your occasional whimper.

“They—” he broke off, his expression cracking briefly before he swallowed heavily, “They touch you?”

You stared at him. Disbelief still gnawing at you—disbelief and happiness and something  _else_  you couldn’t fit into words—as you continued gazing at him mutely.

Arthur released a sharp breath, his expression twisting in rage and something like despair, “They  _did_. I’m gonna kill ‘em all, I’m—”

Shaking your head, you reached forward, your fingers shakily grasping onto his shirt weakly. Arthur stilled, staring at you and you shook your head again, trying to talk over the lump in your throat.

“N-No, that’s not it…you—you came f-for me,” you whispered feebly, and saw his severe expression falter. “You  _came_  for m-me.”

Tears came harder then, and you trembled when Arthur slowly wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you against his chest. His other hand came to rest on top of your head, patting your hair gently.

“You’re fine now. I swear it, ya hear? Those animals will never touch you again,” he said again, softer, and you melted against the comforting warmth of his skin. You were so very cold and he was so very warm you couldn’t help but curl tighter against him, despite the stab of pain that shot through your muscles at the motion. “Now ‘his will hurt but I’m goin’ to get you out of here, yeah? You just hold on now.”

You had seen those hands kill before. You had seen him kill people with nothing  _but_  his hands before too, and knew how dangerous they were—how dangerous  _he_  was. But he touched you with care, tense and careful, as he wrapped you in his arms, expression contorting with every noise of distress and pain you made.

It hurt terribly.

Regardless of how careful Arthur was, your bruised muscles complained and you grit your teeth, trying to focus on him and the securely of his grip. Your cheek rested against his chest and your eyes fluttered shut at the sound of his strong heartbeat. For a moment, you could almost pretend everything else was just a bad dream. You knew it wasn’t. The agony was too real, too raw; but it was simpler to focus only on Arthur, less you lose yourself completely.

And most importantly, he had come for you. He did.

“Did ya really think that I— _we_ —was not comin’ for you?” his quiet question registered and you paused, only now realising that you were muttering the phrase under your breath. “Think we was gonna leave you behind like that?”

His steps were slow and measured, purposely careful to cause you as little harm as possible as he carried you in his arms.

You turned towards his chest, your tears no doubt soaking his shirt as you breathed heavily. Breathing in Arthur’s scent made you feel truly safe for the first time since you were taken. Like there was nothing on this Earth that could possibly touch you now.

It was unfair, really.

He wasn’t yours—was never going to be yours either, if the way he always spoke about Mary was any indication—but you loved him anyway. It wasn’t just unfair. It was cruel. The type of cruelty you bestowed upon yourself willingly, fully knowing before you fell in love with him that his heart belonged to another. It was downright  _stupid_. But you couldn’t help it despite how hard you tried to fight it.

Looking up at him, you could barely make out his face in the dark cave as he carried you towards what you could only assume was the exit, “No one h-has ever come for me before,” you confessed with a fragile whisper. “I thought—I—I thought I was gonna—”

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks. He released a forceful breath and you wondered why he was suddenly so tense again. Maybe he was feeling guilty, or angry that you had the gall to say something like that to him.

“You listen to me now,” he spoke seriously, and in the darkness, you could just make out the curve of his jaw as he stared down at you. “It ain’t like that no more. We look after our own. We’ll  _always_  come for ya,” he added finally, his voice dropping just slightly at the end in a way that made you want to cry all over again.

Smothering another sob, you nodded your head feebly, turning your face towards his chest once again. Adjusting you slightly in his arms, Arthur began walking once again, a quiet hum filling the silence between you. Almost against your will, your fingers tightened in his shirt, letting the smooth rumble of his voice calm you down.

Cold night air brushed against your skin and your eyes fluttered open, glancing up towards the clear night sky. It was wide and beautiful, stars shining brightly in the darkened expanse. You had accepted your fate in that cave; accepted the fact that you would never get to see the stars or the sun again, nor feel the warm summer breeze against your skin.

“Christ! Is she…?”

“Alive, Marston,” Arthur replied swiftly, and a sharp whistle followed his words. “Now I need you and Charles—”

“Arthur! We have a problem!” Charles called out loudly and you heard his footsteps rush towards you. “Back up on the way. You go, take (Name) back to the camp because she ain’t gonna last long like this. John and I will hold ‘em off.”

“We  _will_?”

A gunshot sliced deafeningly through the air and Arthur’s arms tightened around you, causing a fraught cry to slip out of you again.

“Go now!”

“Now ‘his will hurt but I got you,” Arthur murmured and you felt the sudden shift of your body upwards. You moaned in pain and felt the burn of your wounds twisting uncomfortably as Arthur secured you on his horse. He quickly got on as well, your back coming to mercifully rest against his chest. The horse turned and you choked on another cry of agony, Arthur’s arms coming to rest around you as he gripped the reins. “ _Shh_ , I know, darlin’. I know. I’m not gonna let you fall, just stay with me, yeah? You keep awake no matter what.”

The horse took off in a gallop and you dug your nails in Arthur’s arm, your head lolling to one side. The distant sound of gunshots and fighting starting to fade the further you rode into the forest. There was something desperate about the way Arthur pushed his beloved horse to move faster. Something about the way his voice strained more and more with each passing second as if responding to your half unconscious state.

“A-Arthur.”

His grip on you tightened and you felt his hot breath brush against the shell of your ear.

“Just hold on, darlin’,” he urged sternly and…

Your body slumped to one side, blackness filling your vision and then nothing.

**…**

A jolt.

Voices.

And the security of an unyielding embrace.

“A-Ar…” you slurred quietly, your vision blurry.

“I got you, just stay  _awake_  for me,” Arthur’s voice echoed but it seemed distant and unreachable.

Footsteps. Commotion all around you, and then a figure appeared in your line of sight.

“Did ya talk? Did she?”

“Goddamn it, Dutch, not ‘his again,” there was steel you rarely heard in Arthur’s voice, and somewhere deep down you felt something like surprise register. “She needs help.  _Hosea_!”

“Son, if she talked I need to know,” the stern voice shot back—Dutch, it was Dutch, you knew him too—and you tried to force your heavy tongue to work. Tried to collect letters and then form coherent sounds with them, to explain, to tell Arthur that you hadn’t said a damn thing. That you would never betray him like that—not him, not  _ever_. “The safety of everyone here depends on it.”

“Don’t you think,” Arthur replied softly, his voice pinched, “That if she talked, the O’Driscolls would have found us by now? She needs help, Dutch. She’s in real bad shape.”

You dipped towards the blackness again, only to be jolted by a motion of being lowered down. The cocoon of safety all but disappeared, and you fought back a sound of terror at the sudden and cold emptiness.  

No, no—Arthur—

“You’re gonna be fine now,” Arthur’s voice echoed but it was too far, far…and…further…

“I never—I didn’t—I—”

Something hot and rough folded around your fragile fingers, squeezing only once, “I know ya didn’t. I know.”

There were voices, loud and chaotic, all around you but you could only focus on the warmth of your hand and his voice. You clung to him the best you could, trying not to lose to the darkness that strove to drag you mercilessly down. But it was so hard and you needed him.

“Don’t  _go_ ,” you pleaded, voice small and terrified, “D-Don’t go. Don’t  _leave_ —”

You felt yourself tip towards the blackness, and his reply got swallowed before you could hear it.

**…**

The breeze was gentle against your skin.

And the smell of wildflowers, pine and grass made it even harder to open your eyes. There was fragility about this quiet moment that you didn’t want to shatter. It would be easier to remain here, half-caught in a dream that you were safe, than to wake up in that dark cave and feel your hope crumble into nothing.

Light burned behind your eyelids, and you inhaled deeply, cringing when you felt the sting of tobacco burn your nose. Your eyes fluttered open and you had to blink a few times to clear your swimming vision.

The first thing you saw was a man sitting in front of you smoking a pipe. It was a face you had no trouble recognising. From the gentle, clever gaze to the relieved curl of his lips. The man took another long drag from his pipe, blowing out the smoke slowly upwards, a pleased light gleaming in his eyes.

“Welcome back, dear girl,” Hosea greeted with a small nod.  

“I—” you croaked, immediately choking back a cough your dry throat brought forth.

Hosea promptly leaned closer to you, grabbing something from one side of your cot, bringing it closer to your face when your weak wheezing subsided.

A simple cup of water had no business looking as appealing as it did then.

It was painful to swallow, your muscles cramping agonizingly with each mouthful, but the cool water felt and tasted like salvation.

Everywhere hurt.

Your face felt stiff and sore and you knew a number of cuts and bruises littered your skin. Hosea placed the cup on a little stool beside your cot, expression aggrieved.

“Arthur said they didn’t touch ya but…” he trailed off wearily, eyebrows pulling together and you felt your own expression crumble slightly at his pained tone. “Oh, my dear girl. I’m so very sorry,” he spoke, lightly placing his hand on yours.

“I—how long?” you mumbled, licking your dry lips.

Hosea sighed, glancing outside the sunny camp, “Three days. We was startin’ to get real worried about you. It can be dangerous to not wake up for so long.”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a brief second and you exhaled with forced calmness, “How—how long was I g-gone?”

Hosea’s expression grew taunt and he sighed again, his shoulders slumping. Somehow the gesture made him seem even older, frailer, even though you knew full well he was easily one of the most dangerous men you’ve ever met.

“Four days.”

Just four days.

In that cave, with nothing but pain and darkness for company, it had felt like an eternity. Pure and utter hell you wouldn’t wish upon anyone. Every minute had felt amplified, harrowing, and the sunny tent you were now resting in seemed false; an illusion your broken mind had spun into existence to comfort you.

But the soreness of your body reminded you that this was real—it  _had_  to be. You were no longer stuck in that cave waiting for death, that Arthur had come—

Arthur.

Your eyes flickered around frantically, your breath hitching when you realised he wasn’t here. But of course, he wasn’t. He was important in the camp, he always had things to do and errands to run. He worked harder than anyone else to bring as much money as possible back. You knew this. He couldn’t possibly sit around babysitting you while you were unconscious for days.

And yet—

You had hoped that  _maybe_ …

“If you’re lookin’ for a particular someone, you should look to your other side.”

Your eyes met Hosea’s in confusion before you sluggishly turned your head towards the other side of the tent.

And there, slumped on a chair in the darkest corner of the tent, was Arthur. His arms were crossed, feet kicked out in front of him, practically taking up half the space, and his hat pulled low over his face as he slept.

Affection and warmth bloomed in your chest and you felt an overwhelming need to reach out and touch him, just to reassure yourself that this wasn’t some cruel dream your mind had conjured up. You wanted him to be real so badly.

“He  _stayed_ ,” was you breathless acknowledgement, and your heart fluttered with happiness.  

You heard Hosea hum thoughtfully under his breath, but couldn’t tear your eyes away from Arthur’s restful figure.

“Hardly moved from your side, that one,” Hosea said knowingly, “He cares a great deal for you.”

This time you did look away with a small scoff of disbelief that hurt more than you would care to admit. Hosea’s eyebrows rose, and he placed the pipe back between his teeth, gazing at you thoughtfully.

“You don’t believe me? Whyever not?”

You tried to shift your weight but found it impossible when throbbing pain stiffened your muscles. It was shameful; this inescapable desire for Arthur’s affection. It was not as if you needed him—not really, you survived just fine on your own—but your heart warmed at the idea of his care ever being directed at you.

“Because…because it’s  _Arthur_ ,” you stated tiredly, staring outside the tent entrance. You could hear the sound of your friends bustling around the grounds, taking care of their daily duties and relaxing. “His loyalty is with Dutch. And the camp. And…Mary. I don’t—I don’t have his heart, Hosea. Nor will I e-ever.”

You silently cursed your traitorous voice for cracking at the last word. Swallowing heavily, you breathed shallowly through your nose, trying not to upset your wounds further.

“Wanna know what I think?” Hosea prompted willfully, causing your eyes to flicker in his direction and meet his steady gaze. “I think it was that way for a long time, yes. But now…I’m not so sure no more. He was the first, ya know? First to notice you was gone, first to go look for you too. Not long before he roped Charles and John to go with him as well. Probably would’ve taken Lenny and Javier too but they was gone from the camp. Dutch wasn’t best pleased but…well…”

Your fingers were trembling, and you tried your hardest to control your expression when you softly questioned the man in front of you, “But what?”

“But,” Hosea began, breaking your gaze and glancing towards sleeping Arthur. “I’ve known him for a long time, (Name). A  _very_  long time. Yer right in sayin’ he’s loyal. Arthur is as loyal as they come; his faith in Dutch is absolute, I don’t doubt tha’. But I’ve never, not once in all the years I’ve known him, seen ‘im look at Dutch the way he did when he brought ya back the other night.”

You could hardly breathe, “Like what?”

Hosea stared at you for a long moment, nibbling on the tip of his pipe before slowly exhaling, his eyebrows still furrowed.

“Like he might just go through ‘im if he continues gettin’ in the way,” he told you carefully. “And that, my dear girl, tells me a lot more than any words could. Arthur’s never been one for eloquence anyway.”

The silence that stretched between you was somber. Something about the matter-of-fact way Hosea told you this made you want to believe his words. You wanted to believe the silly daydream. Believe that maybe somewhere deep in that heart of his, Arthur could make you space too.

“I—”

A lazy groan sounded, and you almost flinched, your eyes turning towards Arthur who was lazily stretching in the corner. A low groan escaped him as he sat up, removing his hat and placing it back on his head. He blinked a few times, his clear gaze rising and moving in your direction. The moment your eyes met his, he froze, eyes widening slightly.

“H-Hey,” you mumbled under your breath.

He blinked again before rising to his feet and dragging the small chair with him as he sat down on your other side. He cut a quick glance towards Hosea as if confirming that he wasn’t seeing things.

“Yer awake,” he voiced quietly, his accent thicker and voice a pleasant rumble that made a small, awkward grin twist your lips and heart flutter. “How are ya feelin’?”

“She’ll be fine, Arthur,” Hosea input when he noticed your hesitation in answering, eyes kind and voice amiable. “Another week of rest at least, but the girls will get her fixed up no problem. Which reminds me that I should probably go and inform Dutch that you’re awake. I’m sure Arthur can keep an eye on ya, yes?”

“Yeah…”

Hosea dipped his head in your direction with a faint smile before placing the pipe back between his lips and standing up.

“I’ll send Mrs Grimshaw your way too,” he spoke from the entrance of the tent. “She’ll have a look at ya, dear girl. You get plenty of rest now.”

You both stayed silent as you listened to Hosea’s retreating steps get further and further away from your tent. Arthur’s head was tipped to one side, hiding half of his face from you. The silence that stretched between you wasn’t uncomfortable but it was…heavy. You weren’t sure where to start or what to say, and admittedly still felt a bit woozy from pain.

“Thank you,” you began faintly, your fingers fiddling nervously with the quilt neatly folded around your body. “For comin’ for me. Hosea…he—he told me what you did. Thank you. Did Charles and John m-make it back alright?”

Arthur braced his elbow against his leg, head dipped downwards as he nodded mutely, “Yeah, they made it back alright,” he added after a beat. “It wasn’t nothin’ they couldn’t handle.”

“I see.”

This time the silence felt thicker, almost suffocating, and you shifted slightly, hissing in pain at the jolt of agony your movement caused. Arthur’s head lifted, his gaze intent as he stared at you silently, his jaw clenching a few times before he stood up abruptly.

“Arthur?” you questioned quickly when he moved towards the entrance to the tent.

He paused at your worried voice, his whole frame coming to a stop at the foot of your cot. There was a harshness to his powerful frame, and a fierceness in his gaze you only ever saw before him and others went on jobs. When he geared himself for a fight, danger and bloodshed. But something about this felt deeper, more intent as he stared ahead as if waiting for you to continue.

“You’re—you’re angry,” you concluded, and saw his gloved fingers clench into a tight fist you knew was devastating in a fight. “I’m sorry, I was not careful enough—”

“ _Don’t_ , (Name),” he cut you off sternly, but not unkindly. You heard him exhale deeply before he glanced at you from under his hat. “I ain’t angry at you. But you’re right, I  _am_  angry. But don’t you worry about that, ya hear? You focus on gettin’ better.”

“ _He cares a great deal for you._ ”

Something deep down told you that letting him go now would be a mistake. You knew how foolish anger made people; how it stripped them of sense and reason. You would not risk him like this. Regardless of whether Hosea was right about him, you  _loved_  him and that was enough for you.  

“W-Would you stay?” you pleaded hesitantly. “ _Please_. I…I don’t wanna to be alone.”

Arthur’s chin dipped down, staring at the floor for a long moment before he turned his head to look at you. His expression was more relaxed than earlier, almost weary, as he stared at you, nodding only once in mute agreement.

A coil in your chest loosened when he sagged on the rickety chair next to you, his eyes thoughtful when they skimmed over your bruised features.  

“That bad, huh?” you tried to joke even though it felt awkward and stilted.

“I’ve seen worse,” he replied with a small grunt.

There was still tension curling his shoulder blades and you reached out, lightly placing your wounded fingers on his larger hand. Something about the gesture sparked something in your mind, but no matter how hard you tried to grasp onto it, it refused to resurface.

“Thank you for savin’ me,” you told him seriously. Because truthfully, you doubted you will ever not feel grateful. “And thank you for stayin’.”

You tried to pull back but before you could, Arthur turned his hand, capturing your palm in his. He didn’t squeeze, he did nothing but simply hold it, his eyes hidden under the brim of his hat.  

“Ya welcome.”

He stayed; not moving, not pulling you closer or pushing you away, simply holding on.

And that was fine.

His hand was warm, and you were no longer cold.

**Author's Note:**

> *rolls up to the fandom months late, and with a healthy dose of angsty fluff and mutual pining*


End file.
